


Birds of a Feather

by SoleilVioleta



Series: In Which Merrill Exists [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-19 23:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4764227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoleilVioleta/pseuds/SoleilVioleta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merrill joins the Inquisition after having been the Court Enchanter for Empress Celene.</p><p>Sera at first has a problem with this, but eventually they get along well. Very well, in fact.</p><p>(Short, chronological chapters detailing the relationship between Merrill and Sera. TW for possible graphic depictions of blood, in use of blood magic. Sex scenes may make an appearance in later chapters, but haven't been written yet.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At first they fought; two storms clashing fearlessly.

“Well how could you know what it’s like to be small if you’re sitting so high and mighty in the Winter Palace!” Sera paced, the sun beating down in high-noon fashion. Her boots ground into the dirt by the well, passing over tiny bits of gravel.

“You don’t know everything about me and my past, do you!” Merrill kept pace, creating an uneasy circle in the courtyard. Little beads of sweat start to form on the brow of everyone nearby- this is a public affair. 

“I know enough! I know an entire alienage was destroyed under the reign of your beloved icy queen bee.” Sera spits the accusation, but she watches Merrill’s hand- ready to draw if she goes for her staff. Ready to fire four arrows, ready to retreat to the steps, ready to find backup. She’s ready.

“Where do you think she found me? Taking a visit with the Grand Duke?” Merrill’s accent comes out stronger when she yells- it always does when she’s under duress. She knows the Inquisitor is watching. This is a test. It’s always a test. Why is it always a test?

“You? In an alienage! I can hear the leafy-loving elf in your voice! Don’t try to trick me you git!” Sera tenses as Merrill stops pacing.

“Well, I wouldn’t have been in the alienage if my clan hadn’t been killed. And I wouldn’t have been in the Palace if the alienage hadn’t been murdered and razed.” She doesn’t cast a spell, but energy fills the air. The sun glints off of the arrowheads in Sera’s quiver.

Sera’s fingers twitch, “Oh, and once you were comfy you just stayed put, right? They always do.” She holds her breath. The air is dead between them- all of the ambient life in it swirls (unseen) around Merrill.

“How do you think Briala got so much information on Celene? Do you think a shem would provide?”

Merrill walks away. Two flights of stairs away the Inquisitor puts her staff down. Blackwall goes back to sanding his rocking horse.


	2. Chapter 2

Varric and Merrill sit closely on the bar stools- she hunches over and stares into her drink, “I don’t really like this one. I think. Maybe?” It comes out between hiccups, they’ve been here for a while.

“Daisy,” he takes a deep long swig, emptying the cup, “It’s good to have you back.”

Their hips touch, their shoulders meet, “You know I never needed the twine again. Once I got used to cities it was all fine.”

Varric chuckles, “Is that right? I knew you’d grow out of it. But it sure was cute while it lasted.”

“I think Sera hates me Varric. I really do.” Merrill’s eyes begin to water

“I don’t think so Merrill- she doesn’t even know you. Is this why you were so upset earlier?” Concern sweeps across Varric’s face. He’s never taken a fancy to blood magic, but there’s something about Merrill that’s always struck a chord with him. She’s something like a daughter to him- or maybe a sibling- or perhaps just a cousin. But she’s family- he has to worry.

“I know it shouldn’t make me feel bad. But I really was trying to help, even when I was “sitting pretty”.” Merrill tries and fails to mimic Sera’s accent. Any seriousness falls away as Varric falls into laughing fit- big barrels of laughter coming from his chest- rocking Bianca all about even in her harness.

Merrill starts laughing too, and upstairs, Sera frowns angrily. It’s too cute, really. Everyone all rosy-cheeked and giggly.

But if Varric cares about that girl so much- she can’t be that bad?


	3. Chapter 3

Merrill and Sera don’t speak for another week. They’re both around Skyhold of course- so they keep running into each other. They cross paths, lock eyes, ignore each other, and go on about their business. Merrill is busy with the Eluvian and mostly likes to avoid conflict- she sees no point in starting more fires when her feet are already beginning to burn. Sera is mostly angry, but then again, she’s always mostly angry.

The difference is that this time she’s wondering if she’s wrong.

Sera starts to come around (mostly on advice from everyone’s favorite dwarven rogue), and she doesn’t really have to seek Merrill out. Skyhold isn’t that big if you know where people congregate. And elfy ones- they always like the garden.  
“So fine. This is how it is, right? You’ve got one chance to prove to me you’re not a total dud and if you fail it I’m never lookin’ your way again.”

Merrill snaps up, surprised- she’d been surveying the elfroot growing wild in the corner (it looks very old, judging by the root system but very young for such-), “I don’t think I need to prove myself anything to anyone, but if you want to be friends I’m willing to try.” Taking a good look at Sera for the first time (at least, for the first time she hasn’t been angry), Merrill finally starts to notice the important things. Dark bags underneath her bright eyes, freckles playing across on her cheeks mingling with a faint sunburn, habitual bite marks on her lips. There’s no vallasalin to declare worship or to indicate Sera’s best features- but it isn’t needed. It’s obvious that Sera says exactly what she thinks, that she’s loyal, and that she’s fierce.

Several lengthy conversations later- mostly about the injustices in alienages, poverty, and the racism visited upon elves- they find themselves back in the bar.

Merrill falls asleep on the sill in Sera’s loft- the window open. Sera mutters to herself about hating the chill, but she assumes that Merrill likes the draft and leaves it open. The moonlight falls in a single shaft past Merrill and onto the floor. But it catches on Merrill’s soft hair and illuminates the flush of her cheeks. (And that’s it, i’n’it?’ Sera thinks to herself, ‘That’s it.’)


	4. Chapter 4

Merrill laughs riotously- she loves spending time with Sera when she’s not pursuing her other labors of love, “Maybe it’s funnier in elvhenan?” she manages to get out between her laughs.

Sera rolls her eyes, “Sure- get even elfy-er on me. See if I care.” But she’s grinning anyway. They’ve already worked out the “elfy” stuff. Sometimes it’s nice to hear about being something else- so long as it’s not so condescending.

“What do you think my ears will grow any bigger?” They fall back into the easy rhythm they’ve developed. Merrill tinkers with the Eluvian while Sera sharpens her arrowheads and oils her bow. Streams of conversation come and go, stirring up and drifting off alongside concentration to the task at hand.

Varric bumps into them for a chat and eventually Iron Bull drops off some food for them, “You ladies have got to try this.” He promises that it will pleasantly surprise them as he grabs a quick bite from the plates with a wink.

As many a night, they drift off to sleep together in odd places. Sera curls up in the middle of the sweeping canvas cover that normally shrouds the Eluvian, Merrill gently covers her with her cloak, eventually drifting off on the stone floor amidst all of her texts and tools- Sera’s bow carefully placed on top of one of the upturned pews.


	5. Chapter 5

The streets of Val Rouyeaux aren’t exactly busy most of the time, but today the ships from Antiva and Rivain have come in. The trade has been good, even with the looming threats that the Inquisition faces, and now these streets are bustling.

Sera lives for it; bumping into people, jostling their change out of their coin-purses, this is her element.

Merrill loves it too, but for different reasons. New sights, new information, the feeling of determination coming from everyone.

“Let’s head for that one.” Merrill nods in the direction of a merchant stall across the flow of people.

Trying to cross this throng of people is trying, especially given that elves aren’t so much ignored as they are purposefully cut off in this situation. Sera fumbles for Merrill’s hand, worried that she might get swept away. She was a forest girl for so long- can she really have adapted?

The stall is a permanent installment- a bad target for bartering- but the Inquisitor insisted that the two get as much as they could with as little as possible (likely at the behest of Josephine), and Merrill had asked for practice haggling.

Merrill surveys the goods, giving a subtle squeeze to Sera’s hand (‘We’re here.’ It says, ‘together.’)

“Ser, could you tell me how much that stack of books is worth?” Merrill gestures to them with her free hand, absent-mindedly showing her coin-purse, bulging and sporting the inquisition symbol.

Sera sighs and steps back, “You take this one, I’ll take the next.”

The man picks up the books, placing them in front of Merrill. They’re heavy and a good bit of dust rises from them, “These aren’t just any books, they’re ancient Orlesian texts from over 100 years ago. They’ll be 500 sovereigns.”  
“500! For ancient texts! Well what sort of texts are they?” Merrill leans over the books to inspect them, clearly interested.

Sera makes eye contact with the merchant and frowns, his eyes dart away, “Uh, well they were very popular during their time. Copies this old are very rare, and they hold a lot of cultural value.”

“I do understand the importance of preserving culture.” Merrill nods, agreeing with her own sentiment, “But I don’t have quite that much. Are you sure they’re worth 500 sovereigns?” her hand hovers over the books, expectantly.They aren’t leaving without these books. She looks up at the shop-keep with the brightest hope in her eyes.

Rookie mistakes- she doesn’t even haggle for the price properly. Sera puts her hand on her dagger, makes eye contact with the man again and makes a snarl of a face, “Well ma’am, you seem like you could do these texts justice. So perhaps I could part with them for 300?” Sera draws her thumb across her neck and flashes the inquisition belt-flag she’s sporting, “You know, I really don’t need them. I’m not a scholar. You can take them. Please.”

“Oh how nice!” Merrill scoops the books up lovingly and turns away, Sera begins walking towards the next booth.

As soon as they’re out of earshot Merrill begins laughing, a treacherous laugh somehow still sweet, filled with tiny pealing bells and chirping love birds, “These books are raunchy romance novels, published maybe 50 years ago. They aren’t worth anything.”

“You haven’t even looked at them! How do you know?” Sera, aghast, stops them in an out of the way alcove. The stone is cool despite the noisy sun and the chatter of the people gathering for commerce marks the background without pause. Her hair, choppier than ever, has started to grow long enough to tickle her freckled shoulders.

“Well Sera this isn’t my first rodeo! I’ve been shopping by myself for years now and I know how to haggle and barter- and there’s hundreds of copies of these floating around- but it was cute how you supported me like that. Maybe we should try it again.” Fluidly, she ends her sentence with a peck on Sera’s cheek, and cheerfully begins walking, “Maybe we should read these together, later?”

Sera never admits that her cheeks are hot and red, strawberries in the high noon spring.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s not as if it’s a secret that Merrill uses blood magic. But the first time that Sera sees it in action, it hits her harder than she thought it might.

Ignoring things- putting them into little bottles, and putting those little manageable bottles on the shelf- is likely why her nook in the tavern is so cluttered. Shattering those bottles- it never goes well.

Fighting beside the Inquisitor and Merrill isn’t an honor- it’s fun. Saving people here and there- finding wedding rings stolen by thieves- it’s all fun and games. It really is.

But this dragon- now that’s a big scaly bitch of a problem.

Jump. Draw. Fire.

Duck. Draw. Fire.

Usually- Step.- it’s enough to just do what they always do. But this time Sera can see- Draw. Fire.- Cassandra really isn’t taking it well. Her arms look heavy, her legs are barely keeping her up.

A blast of fire brushes past Sera’s ear- she can feel a burn beginning to welt- Kneel. Draw/Fire/Draw/Fire.

The Inquisitor gets hit with the fireball and that’s about it- she sees the magic of the barriers fall away- shimmering incandescent walls, melting before her very eyes.

“NO!” Cassandra shouts, a roar that makes Sera cringe, but the dragon batts no lash. –Draw.-

And very suddenly with the swipe of a claw Cassandra is tossed to the ground- the blood spilling out of her back- shredded by the single movement. There’s a little tremble, and then she’s limp. Sera’s got more arrows ready. But she holds her fire. She doesn’t tremble, but she’s not sure what the best path of action is. And where’s-  
A quiet murmuring by the Inquisitor’s limp form grows louder and louder- Merrill’s voice begins to crescendo and the blood on the ground by Cassandra rises into the air.  
It’s unnatural.

Merrill moves with the same grace that her usual movements carry. It’s undefinable, it’s ethereal. It’s unnatural.

 

It’s not enough blood.

 

Sera watches from behind cover, the dragon approaches Merrill, and even terrified, and even horrified to her chilled bones, by the blood magic that she sees- happening right in front of her not two feet away- she’s worried for Merrill.  
Merrill can sense this- but she’s preoccupied. She slams her staff into the ground- pointy-side down. Deftly she pulls the small blade from her belt- it’s reserved for this purpose- and she slices open her palm.

It’s not delicate. It’s savage and brutal and it hurts. But it’s not just useful- it’s necessary.

Power swirls around Merrill, blood circles her, and she removes her staff from the ground. It stings, to hold it on top of the new wound.

The dragon breathes a stream of fire, but it hits Merrill’s barrier- the Inquisitor is safe.  
Merrill grows pale as blood streams from her wound- but on the other side of the battlefield Cassandra’s flesh mends. Wisps of green fade stitch it back together as if it had never been touched. Cassandra comes-to, and doesn’t question a thing. She’s an intense single-minded being when in the fray, she gets up and charges- plunging her sword into the hind leg of the dragon, just between two large scales.

This is enough to snap Sera back into action. Arrows and magic fly in tandem with Casandra’s vorpal blade. When the dragon has been beaten into the submission of afterlife, the companions fall to the Inquisitor’s side.  
Cassandra holds the Inquisitor gently, whose frame seems so small in comparison to her heavily armored bulk. Cassandra fumbles out that she can feel no pulse, and the meaning behind these words floats unsteadily, taking hold nowhere. No one wants to believe. Sera sits watch- waiting for enemies that would take advantage of a time like this- but she also keeps an eye on the Inquisitor. On Merrill.  
Blood no longer spills from Merrill’s palm- the wound is sloppy and deep, but nothing is coming out.

Merrill, full of purpose, full of poise, flips up her tabard and unbuckles her tasset, exposing her naked thigh. A small tally of scars populates this area- tiny little lines all right next to one another. That forbidden knife is in Merrill’s hand easier than Sera cares to see, and she makes a quick incision alongside the others. Tiny bits of deep red blood- little droplets of dark taboo- slide down Merrill’s leg, but she catches them with her thumb and smears it across the Inquisitor’s nose. She chants fereldan words that sound harsh from her dalish vocal chords.

Memories of the first time she had to do this- from the first mark upon her thigh- take her mind. She can almost feel Hawke right beside her, hands trembling and voice shaking with instruction. Hawke’s forehead sweaty- hair locked into a tangled mess- lips dry and cracked- heart beating far too slow-and then very suddenly Hawke gasping for breath, turning over to wretch- searching for a grin and a witty comment. It’s all so close-

But she senses the physical distance between them as her fear of death slides away. She grasps the remaining strands of the Inquisitor’s life and anchors them, pulls them, knots them down.

The Inquisitor bolts upright- choking on air- and scrambles out of Cassandra’s lap to heave.  
Merrill re-buckles her tasset and re-arranges her tabard.

As they move to return to Skyhold Merrill trembles- she’ll be sleeping most of this horse-ride. Sera won’t meet her eyes, and she’s low on blood- her veins feel dry, her empathy wearing thin.


	7. Chapter 7

“So, you think I’m a monster. And the logical thing to do to a monster is annoy it, mostly by ignoring it, I see.” Merrill is furious, and she doesn’t need to be inebriated to confront anyone about her use of blood magic.  
Iron Bull pats Sera on the back, two claps of his giant hands, and pulls away from the bar. Distantly, he mumbles something to Krem about getting more drinks and maybe some snacks.

Sera is only one drink down- but she really wishes she were more. “Look. I don’t like blood magic. You use blood magic. Demon is as demon does.” She never pulls any punches.

“You know, I have killed a lot of people. And I have used blood magic to do it. And I’m not going to stop.” She takes her knife out from her belt and sticks it into the table. It’s perfectly clean, and glints ever so slightly in the low lighting of the tavern. Little runes are scrawled all along the blade, but they seem to shift- Sera can’t stand to look at the damn thing.

Sera grimaces- her bow is upstairs. She’s good in a bar fight- but a bar fight against a blood mage? She’s never been good at holding her tongue though, “Yeah, that’s exactly what blood magic is for- abominations who kill people!” She shouts the end, and people begin to shuffle away. In the corner, Iron Bull puts down his drink.

“You know what kind of people I’ve killed? I’ve killed bandits. Gangs. Templars. Robbers. I’ve killed people I didn’t want to- people who tried to kill me first- people who tried to imprison me- people who thought I might be good for the elven slave trade. People under the thrall of a demon, or another blood mage.” Merrill gives Sera her full, unwavering attention. Nearly everyone leaves the tavern save Krem and Bull.

“Well good job proving me right then. Innocents always get caught in this bullshit mess.” Sera, as ever, is unwilling to back down.

“No- hardly any of them were innocent. But that doesn’t matter. You know, at first I kept track of who I killed. And now I don’t. I can’t- it’s too many,” she pauses, “but I bet you can’t either.”

“It’s different! Killing with a bow and arrow- it’s honest, it’s real. I can hold a bow in my hands, and I don’t need a demon to train my eye.” She steps off her stool and sees a shadow outside the door- cautiously waiting to see what will happen.

“Well, that’s interesting, because a bow- all it’s good for is pain. It can hurt, maim, kill. Blood magic, can be used for good.” Merrill rests her arm on the table, grasps her knife, but does not pull it out of the table.

“Even good blood magic ends in-“

“No, it doesn’t. I learned from an old friend of mine, a friend that you would really hate even though he looked out for the little people more than anyone, a good bit of healing magic. And you would be surprised how much blood magic can help.”

“Helping my ass to-” Sera tries to stop her, but Merrill is a typhoon. A force of nature not so easily stopped when started.

“I’ve kept hearts pumping, I’ve stopped wounds from bleeding out, I’ve isolated and extracted poisons. I’ve cleansed old artifacts. I’ve healed blows that should have been final- you’ve seen that. You can’t go around pretending that you didn’t see Cassandra’s-“ Merrill’s words come faster than she can say them- little bits of elvhenan scattered throughout, but the meaning still understandable. Keenly, she leaves out her other thoughts on the number of people Sera has killed.

“No I don’t pretend! You’re the one pretending! Pretending blood magic is good!” The images of that battle flash through Sera’s mind.

“Blood magic isn’t good or bad- no tool is. Listen- you saw the marks. Don’t you know what each one is?” Merrill gestures to her thigh.

“Aren’t they cancelled out by the number of-“ Sera knows what they are- a life saved, each one. But if she’s killed so many- how can they matter?

“Each one of those marks is someone who I have saved from death- using blood magic. The price for each of those marks, is one year of my life.” She yanks the knife out of the bar and places it carefully into its’ sheath.

“One year- of your?” Sera finally stops. Blood magic has always seemed ignorant, selfish. But to give up a year, knowingly? More than once? How many scars had she seen? She doesn’t remember.

“I don’t know how many years I have. That’s part of the deal. When I reach the end- I just die. And that’s it. No demon is born, no abomination comes to life. No blood magic will be able to bring me back.”

“But how could you-“ Sera’s mind races, trying to grasp what Merrill is really saying.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you this, for you to take blood magic seriously, to see it’s not all bad.” Merrill frowns, sighs.

“But everyone has always-“ In true Merrill fashion, she walks away before Sera can finish her sentence. If people aren’t listening, what’s the point of speaking?

“Fen’Harel me ghilana.” She mutters it under her breath, Sera can’t catch the whole phrase.


End file.
